


Both Sides Of The Gun

by Sonny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-03-11
Updated: 2007-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's thoughts as a Gate To Hell is about to be open...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Sides Of The Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during S2- Season Finale - ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE Part Two... so, yeah... BIG TIME SPOILERS...

_~ &~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~_

 **Chapter One**

 _~ &~&~&~&~&~&~&~_

Dad once said something to me that made me turn my head at a weird angle, like when a puppy hears a strange noise.

 **_"Son... you'll never be a good criminal. You shoot from both sides of the gun."_ **

I never really understood that statement until now. Not this very moment, exactly, but all this time I've been back with Dean... yeah, _glaringly_ obvious.

I hate this, knowing Dad was right all along. Me, with my younger sibling stubborness and jealousy, pushing Dad away, thinking he never really understood me. Taking him for granted and leaving his side when I knew he needed me the most. He never would've asked and I never would've offered. We let the offer die between us as I ran off to college, Dad going silent and brooding for months before I left.

I had to be right, as did Dad. I am my father's son, through and through. No one could dispute that fact. Dean said it all the time to me, how alike Dad and I were. I just blew it off as a means for Dean to patch things between us, wanting peace to settle in what was left of our family. We all were missing Mom, especially when we argued. She came up a lot, in conversations. Well, actually yelling matches, but that point's moot now.

Sometimes I could just smack myself, knowing the things I missed out on. That closeness Dean had with Dad. The ease with which they could converse without fighting tooth and nail. I wish I could've done that.

But, that's what I have Dean for.  **_Jerk..._**

Weird, a year ago if you would have asked me what I was doing here with Dean, I would've tried to cover-up the truth. I'd have made some bare-boned, lame-ass excuse to us re-bonding as brothers. That we were on a road trip, a haphazard vacation to nowhere or somewhere.

Now... I want people to know what we do. I want to be able to let them know I can help them, when no one else believes their out-of-this-world story. You'd be surprised what would happen to our client list if we advertised in the yellow pages, but I like how we find work. The hunts. I always have.

Dad used to have a list of friends, others like us, who he'd contact and find out where we were needed the most. The contact list gets shorter every year. It's like the demons and supernatural beings are winning. But that's not exactly true. Dad's friends were actually his mentors and they're getting old. None of us are immortal. But, also, not many hunters had families like Dad... so you can't guarantee they've passed on their legacies or skills to any children.

Well, Dean and I haven't come in contact with a whole slew of Dad's friends kids our age, only Jo... so we have to assume we're all alone in this battle.

I look at Dean these days and I can see something changing in him. He's not quite thirty and he's already tired, ready to retire. That scares me, because Dean's always been about the hunting. It's in his blood, more than it's in mine. I mean, I'll do it, because I've been trained to, but it's something I can easily walk away from.

Not so easy right now, though. I don't know what would've happened had Dean not returned to get me to help him find Dad. I'm not sure if Jess would've been killed, either. I really just don't know anything.

The only thing I do know is... hunting has become something I'm better at the more Dean backs away. It almost feels like we're switching places and he's willing to let me take the reigns of the work. One day, maybe, making sure HIS ass stays alive instead of dead or bored out of his ever-lovin' mind.

And Christ... if Dean's getting tired, then I must be fuckin' exhausted, because I'm not doing any of this without him. Where I fail, Dean's superior. I get that aspect of our relationship. Took me awhile.

I never got to come up front much with Dad on hunts. Dean's always been cool with partnering with me. Don't know why... I'm kinda easy to spot and though I'm wiry and swift, I'm not the best fighter in the group. Dean used to have to fight for me when we were younger, so being physical doesn't come easy to me like it does Dean. I may be taller than him, but Dean still packs one helluva right hook. Yeah, I've felt that baby once or twice, myself.

Lately, Dean's been wondering if what we do here is worth what we've sacrificed, what we've had to watch leave or die right in front of us. A few months ago, I would've done everything to make Dean become more certain of his need to leave this hunting business.

But now...? I can't _not_ try to prove to Dean he's always been my hero and that I'd walk into any fight, battle or war with him, if he'd let me.

And it's not like I love it. Nope. Seriously? I loathe it. I really, really do. I can only have dreams, sometimes nightmares, about what life would have been like had Jess and I still been together. Had I actually gone to Stanford for my interview. Had I actually abandoned Dean all those months ago, like my brain (and my heart) kept telling me to do, because I knew what I was getting back into.

Finding Dad was what brought me in, but losing Jess was what fired me up and made me passionate about killing and hunting again. Now, I fight in Dad's honor, because now I know for certain Dean needs me, more than he ever did before.

How many times have I been here... and chickened out? Played the "nice guy" too many times and let Dean handle all the messes? The only Winchester with a fuckin' conscience and no need for revenge on my back. I was the one who understood that bloodshed and death wasn't ever over with a simple crack of a bullet as the round pierced imaginary flesh.

Can't help the way I'm made. No more than I can help who I'm shaped from. Or the incomplete pieces of me that haven't developed to their full-on potential.

The last time I shot someone... it was Maddie. Madison. The Werewolf. One shot. One... and the human side of her was no more. That was difficult enough, without trying to come to grips with the emotions I was going through. Had I never felt attracted, never gotten to know her personally and slept with her, I still would have been as affected at ending her young life.  She was me, my age. Tough to face at the end of a gun barrel.

That's what Dad meant. Why I shoot from both sides of the gun. I feel too much, for everyone. I can talk a big talk, but walking it is a whole different matter. I'm not bent like Dad, or Dean. Never have been. Don't see myself ever being that way. If I am, it won't be for too long.

It's why being here... in this old, decrepit cowboy cemetery... I find myself coming to grips with who I really am. The smell surrounding me was rank, like a dozen warm, wounded dead bodies, in tattered and dirty clothing, left out in the sun to bake. Like they're too close to a flame. No... some human flesh _doesn't_ smell "just like chicken".

I can only imagine what this Gate To Hell looks like. The Underworld having clamored to get here, making decent time for when the doors would open and they could escape. They're all probably pushin' and shovin'... each one hoping to be the first one out.

I'm patient. I'm ready and willin' to wait.

Jake doesn't see not only me, but not even Dean, Bobby and Ellen. We've positioned ourselves behind headstones and grave markers. Jake came dangerously close to walking right by where Dean was and I've already got my barrel raised in case he discovers how closely all of us have been on his tail.

I watched Jake as he entered through the huge gates of the cemetery, pushing in as if it had been unlocked for only him. Didn't even phase him the broken chains we had thrown away in the bushes and dried grass. He focused on ONE thing. Jake knows so little of demon hunting, ghost chasing and patrolling grave sites. I would've loved to have taught him, had he... you know... not turned all "OZ" on me, shivin' me right in the back in the center of a muddy field.

NOT a great way to make an impression. Especially after I walked away from bashing his head in with that metal rod. Oh, I could've gone further, but there was a hope in me that I had found someone just like me who could help Dean and I take out the Yellow-Eyed Demon. If we could talk some sense into him when he came to, after passing out. In that moment, I suppose I forgot about his super-human strength. Me knocking him out must have felt like a slight shove.

I have to wonder as I watch Jake walk toward the doors... did I once look like that to Dean? All novice and naive... one intent making everything else disappear, causing me to make myself entirely vulnerable to anyone in my eye line? Now I see why Dean loves to rib me so much about how "green" I can be sometimes about what we do for a living.

I feel strange. I have since I've woken up from that not-so-nice-n-comforting nap I had today. It's not like that "demon gene" is kicked into overdrive, but... it's like I'm finally realizing what causes Dean's blood to boil so incessantly for these "sons-o-bitches", as he fondly calls them. It never was IN me before, but now... I sense an adrenaline rush that makes me pissed off. ALL THE TIME. It even allows me to understand why Dad shirked some parental responsibilities to keep on chasing the past and revenge Mom's death. My own anger was churned anew.

Before, it was all about Jess. By the time Dean returned, I had Dad on my mind again. I can't really say Mom was there much, not one single memory. Mostly because all I knew of her was through some pictures Dad held onto, then whatever Dad and Dean remembered. Hard to create a life to mourn through others' hearsay.

There's just never been a need for me to make this supernatural business my life. I had plans and a future. I had friends and a stable home. I even had prospects to jobs for my career choice. I was even planning to marry Jess, be with her forever.

My back stiffened. I could sense HIM. That Yellow-Eyed Demon. The one who took Mom 23yrs ago, then Jess only a year ago. There's a second, lesser peon-demon, as well. I don't know which one _has_ possession of Jake. He's making his way straight for the tomb. The one Sam Colt had built over the Gate To Hell. Jake hasn't turned his head once, he's unaware he's got company... and four gun barrels aimed directly for his back, prepared to shoot him dead. Poor asshole.

I have a good angle on him, from behind a tall, pedestal grave marker. I have to laugh... Jake, the ex-American soldier has slipped on his basic military training. The "demon" in him doesn't see a thing except what he wants, which is to open those double doors. And I'm not certain how that's supposed to happen without a "key".

All Jake has is the Colt. I can't be sure, but all I'm thinking now is... Dad was the last one to have this gun in his possession. And the Yellow-Eyed Demon was the last one to see Dad before he...

My frustrations increased... knowing whomever had Jake in his grasp was the last person to ever see Dad. Not to mention, I think Jake owes me for giving him a chance to live, then turning around and stabbing me within an inch of my last breath.

I was pissed at myself for being such a blind fool. I kept imagining everyone like me... was LIKE ME. I thought Andy had a good chance, but then Ava... Jesus... it surely doesn't bode well for me. That I could turn out like... Max... or Ansem... Ava and now Jake. Am I that easily accessible? Susceptible to cunning prey?

Good God! My hand was shaking. I almost butted my gun metal against marble. I ran my other hand through the front of my hair, pushing my bangs back. Gave me a chance to swipe away sweat.

Fuck! I get this way when my temper meets my fear. I'd consider it my "trigger itch" to shoot something... someone... dead, but I'm never certain until I'm in the moment.

It's funny. Not _ha-ha_ funny, but funny- _spooky_... what happens when you're looking down the barrel of a gun.

You stretch your arm out, line up your sight; your target a few feet away from you. Your body is wrought with tension, tight like wires. You're at such an intense level of consciousness, you shut down all other senses but sight and hearing. You're almost one being with whatever you're aiming at. It's even important to breath properly; through the nose, never through the mouth. Dean taught me that lesson.

I feel the chill run up my spine, when my anger takes a sharp turn into what looks like madness. People think because I don't do the One Trick Pony magic show that I'm nothing special. Well, for months, I've been able to temper that flame in me, bridgin' human and demon. I've started early enough where I can control what I can already do. I don't WANT what I have, why would I need to encourage the rest of my hidden behaviors?

To normal every day folk, I'm simply havin' a bad day. Angsty young man on an emo kick. To experienced hunters, like Dean and Bobby, they wonder if I'm possessed. I could turn as easily as Ava and Jake. I _really_ could. But again... under my control. You figure if they can hone their skills, why can't it work the other way? I force them to lay dormant. I don't use anything I can do, extraordinarily, unless it's an emergency or there's no other method to solve the problem.

Dean was right, after Max's demise, he mentioned I was different from all the other Chosen because I have HIM. Dean looks out for me and keeps me grounded. He'll constantly remind me of why we hunt in the first place, then do something to show I'm still his annoying little brother. Dean hasn't done either of those things to his full capacity. He's been going through something inside and there's no guarantee when he'll let me in to help. Not talkin' physically, during a fight... but emotionally when he's feeling the pain of knowing what Dad did for him. He's starting to sound like the Old Me. And watching Dean turn into an old version of me is scarier than most of what we've battled against.

I thought I saw myself in Jake, but I was wrong. I'm learning the hard way that not everyone is like me... or Dean. Not even Dad, for that matter. No one else knows what we know or does what we do. No sense in making connections with people you'll end up facing on the other side of your gun, in the dead of early morning darkness, in the center of a man-made Devil's Trap, in a hundred year old abandoned cowboy cemetery.

I've got him. Dead to rights. One false move... dead bang... and Jake's kissin' consecrated ground. We salt him, then burn him like all the others who've fallen before him. Not a decent burial for a soldier, but what can you do? I've learned perfection isn't possible, ever, in this profession. We go half-assed all the way, and we like it.

"Howdy, Jake." I sneer the words, my barrel raised and my sight line directed at Jake's back...

Not a good day to be on my bad side...

 **~ &~&~&~&~&~...TBC...~&~&~&~&~&~**


End file.
